A Trifle Mad
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: It was insanity. Pure, unadulterated insanity. But hadn't Holmes once said that once to eliminated the impossible whatever was left, however improbable, was the truth? But what if the 'truth' was impossible itself!
1. Angela

**A/N: Hey! You probably don't recognise me, right? Well I'm old to this fandom, but new to writing it. I'm only on The Sign of Four (at the moment) so _please _correct me if I get information wrong. A good portion comes from here, so it could always be wrong. I'm also sorry if Holmes and Watson are OOC and such. Again, only on TSOF.  
Anywho, I hope you can, to the very least, semi-enjoy my (friends) crackpot theories.**

It was a crackpot idea, but it was a crackpot idea that _worked_.

My best friend, Laura Saunderson, was by far the single most brilliant person I had ever met in my twelve years of life, and she was a mere two years older than I.

She was a natural philosophic, coming up with odd and abstract theories that it would take others over three times her age _years_to think up, test, and perfect, where it took her mere days, sometimes hours. Her mind was one that I was rather sure rivaled that of Sherlock Holmes, possibly even Mycroft, in all areas except deduction, in which she was slightly behind the two. Where she lacked in deductive prowess she made up for in ability to grasp ideas that would have made the usual teenagers - nay, adults! - world turn on its axis and, in turn, likely put them in a mental institute a few moments after the idea was, to the very least partially, wrapped around. My personal favorite of hers was dimensional travel.

It was rather simple, when being explained, though I could not myself. I can do it, and believe me when I say I have many, many times, but if I tried an explanation I'm rather sure I would become to first person to be sent jabbering to the loony bin by her, unintentional, hand. All I knew was that when I did it exactly how she'd explained, I ended up staring my favorite fictional character in the face while they gave me a disbelieving look at having just popped up in their study or room. It was rather fun to do, I must admit.

The thing that would get us into our most interesting development thus far would be her newest obsession – eh, theory. Time travel.

Once again, it was simple when explained, but if I tried it came out sounding as if I were mad and speaking pure gibberish. Being myself, I never dared since I gained enough odd looks with my usual personality anyway. I was by no means ashamed of it, I was actually rather proud of my loud manner (which obviously doesn't show much in my writing), it was merely that they got rather… laborious after a while and I did what I could without shielding my character too much to avoid them.

It was a Saturday - April the second, to be precise – and we were both sitting in the backyard of Laura's house on Aaron Way beside the clubhouse that had been there upon their move. 'Fort Liberty', we called it, coming up with the name with her older brother and one of his friends, and had quickly nailed a small plank of wood to a stake and painted the words on it before placing just beside the ladder that rose to the actual room. We, being Laura and I, her brother not being home at the time to join us, were actually just by the sign, which I found a trifle odd for some reason but said nothing.

"So you see if you simply do something that will involve your heightened sense – taste – before going to sleep tonight that will remind you of Sherlock Holmes or the era we should both find ourselves just outside 221B in proper Victorian attire!" I raised an eyebrow at this, for once somber. She paid me no mind, instead suggesting some scones her mother had made a few days previous and then allowing the both of us to do it for ourselves. She already had on several occasions, as you can guess, so I was rather desperately running to catch up. On occasion I had to admit, I loathed her. Loathed her with a cold, cruel passion, though when I said so we both knew it would end in jest and play fighting. Again. I rolled my eyes at the thought.

After quickly finishing off a good half of what was left of the batch of scones (taking three apiece) we hurried up to her room, quickly partaking in the first step of time traveling.

It wasn't the having to fall asleep thing that was hard, but more so doing the right things once I was.

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The sound of horses trotting and carriages, along with rainfall on the roof and windows. That was what I awoke to. It took me another few moments to register the fact that I was no longer on the floor of Laura's room, instead on what felt to be a couch with possibly a blanket over me. There were voices above me, one British, another British with a hint of Scottish, and the final being Laura putting on her best British tones, which were incredibly good considering she had never even _heard_ one in person. But who were the other two voices?

I couldn't make out what they were saying, my mind still in too much of a fog, but I could swear I felt a hand on my chest. Checking my heart rate? I opened my eyes; just enough to see but not enough to be able to distinguish that I was really awake. Unfamiliar hazel eyes met my brown ones and it took me a moment to realize what must have happened.

I did it.

My eyes snapped open completely of their own accord and I sat up quickly, knocking my forehead with who had been checking my heart rate. "Ouch!" I muttered, putting a hand to my head. Okay, not the smartest thing in the world to do. I learned my lesson: never sit up when someone's above you.

I took my hand off and looked at who I had just clashed heads with. My eyes widened and I very nearly couldn't stop my jaw from dropping. I recognized them. I recognized them in an instant. It was the very man who my best friend always said I was to her. It was the man whom I idolized. It was the man Laura and I had been trying to prove actually existed for the past week with cold, hard research and was currently succeeding. It was Dr. John Watson.

I'm rather sure I would have screamed in joy at the facts that I had time traveled for the first time and was currently starring at who I was rather sure I was the female reincarnation of had I not thought of the fact that Laura had probably spent the last who-knew-how-long making a cover up for our being there in the first place.

I looked in the direction of Holmes' chair (as I could, by now, make my way around 221B with my eyes shut from all the research of layout) and was moderately surprised to find Laura on it. A delighted smirk lit up her face and she mouthed 'alias seven' to me. Wonderful choice, I had to admit, and one we had just come up with a month or so earlier when my mother started looking into my family roots. I would have to thank her for doing that later.

Laura walked over to me, all traces of the smirk wiped clean off her features, replaced by a look of slight confusion combined with a small apologetic smile. I nearly burst out laughing, as the expression was not one that I was used to on her face and it really wasn't very becoming of her. "Terribly sorry, Doctor. She usually awakens like this-" I nearly scoffed at the ridiculous lie. "-and I should have warned you." I offered an apologetic smile of my own.

Watson cleared his throat, blinking at a slightly more rapid pace than normal. "Its fine, Miss Pierce. Perfectly understandable." He said, and for a moment I wondered if Sherlock was even in and if I had merely imagined his voice, for I had not seen nor heard him as of yet.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps, quiet ones, going back and forth. Quick, long strides, making the person taller than Watson but I couldn't find the exact height. I breathed in through my mouth, though immediately started hacking. Pipe smoke. Curse my ability to taste things just by opening my mouth in their presence! Although it may have been a good thing considering it meant I would never, ever consider smoking or drinking now. Still, the taste was absolutely horrible and I was rather sure I might lose my lunch if I dared to even open my mouth again.

The hacks died down in a matter of seconds, before someone could do anything, and I prepared myself to leave the room. Watson placed a hand on my shoulder, keeping me down. "Are you alright?" He asked, his face betraying a hint of worry. I nodded quickly.

"Just need some fresh air." I said, and I felt bile rising in my throat. This was worse than my uncle's wretched cigar smoke!

The Doctor nodded, giving the pacing figure I had yet to see but could still picture in my mind's eye a quick and mildly withering glare. I smiled slightly, getting up and making my way towards the door and I could just hear Laura whispering to the pipe smoker about my 'sensitivity'. I giggled quietly in the hall for a moment before the Doctor was there to greet me.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, looking me straight in the eyes. "Are you positive you're alright? You look a bit ill." I nodded, parting my lips slightly and breathing in deeply through my mouth in an attempt to get rid of the lingering taste of tobacco on my tongue. I was not only relived, but mildly surprised to that the air tasted like a combination of ginger and mint in the Doctors presence. That was certainly something I had not anticipated.

I could feel my brows furrowing in confusion and I took another breath. Yes, it was definitely ginger and mint, and if I focused I could taste the smallest hint of wild strawberries as well. "Odd," I couldn't help but mutter to myself. "Very odd." Now it was Watson's turn to be confused.

"What's odd?" He questioned, and I blushed, looking down at my shoes instead of his face.

"N-nothing. Just… something in the air." I loved telling the complete, vague truth. It added no weight to my conscious and the other person still didn't get any hints to what I was saying. I also suddenly realized that I was suddenly using my Scottish/Irish accent where I hadn't been before. Dangit.

Watson raised an inquisitive eyebrow, apparently not noticing the change in accents considering his next statement. "And what, exactly, is in the air?" Double dang. Most people would have just let it go, but of course that was me not thinking again. The man had lived with _the_ Sherlock Holmes for Lord-knew-how-long for Heaven's sake! He had to have picked _something_ up to the very least.

I started to stutter out unintelligent excuses, not wanting both Holmes and Watson (if Laura had told Holmes the truth, which I doubted) to know about my heightened sense. It was stupid, but I had only told Laura about it, and I most certainly wasn't going to tell anyone about it in the past. Watson silenced me with a look that reminded me of my mother when I tell her Laura and I have been talking about dimensional travel. It's that look that makes me tell him. At least partially, anyway.

I lean in closer to him, my nose mere inches from his chest, and I open my mouth again and inhale deeply. "It's definitely coming from you." I confirm eyes closed as I take in the sweet flavor. I quickly come back up to my full height, once again out of what I'm sure was the Doctors personal space which I so rudely invaded. He raises an eyebrow at me again.

"_What_ is coming from me?" He said in an almost exasperated manner. I smiled slightly.

"Well, ginger, mint and a small hint of wild strawberries." I answer, not bothering to elaborate. Watson sniffed the air and he looked down at me curiously and for the first time I realize he's around the same height as my brother.

"I don't smell anything." My grin turns crooked.

"Nor do I," I respond, turning back to the sitting room, which hopefully no longer reeks of tobacco. "But I do, however, taste something." And with that, I walked back in a took a seat in Watson's usual chair across from Laura, the crooked grin still on my face, and the look of puzzlement on my past lives (because I really do think I'm his reincarnation and Laura is Holmes') face permanently etched in my mind. Life was good.

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**Yeah... Crackpot scientist in making writing this fic right here. And possibly a good future sci-fi author. Anyway, crit is always welcome. No useless reviews!**

**Edit: Wow... One reveiw... Don't I just feel loved?  
Seriously though, minor edits made to the chapter where I noticed a few mistakes. That's all I wanted to say.**


	2. Watson

It took me a moment to return to the sitting room after the girls (whose name Miss Peirce had not had the chance to tell us) odd statement. And odd it was! 'Nor do I, but I do, however, taste something.' She had said the _taste_ of ginger, mint and strawberries had been coming from me. I decided to think about it later, when I could talk to Holmes in private and get his opinion on the matter.

The sight I met with when I went in was one that seemed perfectly natural, yet at the same time foreign.

The two young girls were both seated on the two chairs across from each other, neither noticing when I walked in. Miss Peirce was in Holmes', her chin resting on steepled fingers as she gazed off into the distance, not really seeing anything. If I hadn't known any better I would have said she was trying to do an imitation of the man who was usually in her spot. Her companion, however, had her ankle on her knee, elbow resting on her palm as she sat back in my chair. She chewed her thumbnail with an annoyed expression, like one trying to fight a particularly bad bought of writer's block. Holmes himself was now on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest and his face glowing in hidden mirth as he looked from one to the other.

I blinked a few times before taking a spot beside the Detective. My eyes began flickering from one to the other as his were and within moments I couldn't help but feel vaguely perplexed at what he found so amusing about the scene.

As though sensing my befuddlement, Holmes leaned in a bit closer to me, as though not wanting to break the easy silence. "Do you notice anything familiar about these two, Watson?" He questioned quietly. I shook my head in response. He looked from one to the other once more and a small smile broke out on his hawk-like features.

"Nothing at all, my dear boy? The stances, perhaps." My lip twitched in slight amusement, which was all the answer he seemed to need. "They almost look like you and I." Miss Peirce's ears perked at the conversation and instantly the far-away look she wore so well slid off her face like a mask, though her companion seemed to take no notice.

"I can hear every word you say quite well, Mr. Holmes. If there are any future conversations you would like to partake in that you do not wish me to hear I highly suggest you, to the very least, leave the room first." I raised an eyebrow. Holmes had been speaking near-silently, almost too quiet for even myself to hear him; how had the girl been able to hear it so well?

Apparently hearing my unspoken question, she answered with a mere, "I have rather good ears, Doctor. And you really do need to stop that bad habit of muttering your thoughts aloud." Her companion finally seemed to come back to our world at this, having apparently been too far into her own mind to have been paying any attention to her surroundings.

"What was it I muttered, exactly?" She questioned in the same thick Scottish/Irish accent as before, which I found a trifle odd as she hadn't had it upon waking. I would go over that later as well. I couldn't help but also be interested in the fact that she seemed to share a bad habit with me I had not even been aware of, and I vaguely wondered if she wrote in her spare time, as that was where it had likely come from for me.

Miss Peirce looked over to her friend, a small smile on her face. "Nothing, Vivian. Nothing at all; I was talking to Doctor Watson, not you." 'Vivian' opened her mouth slightly, nodding once, as though wishing to say something but not being entirely sure what.

After a moment of silence Vivian began squirming in her seat, uncomfortable with the atmosphere. "Excuse me, Doctor," she began. "But you wouldn't happen to have a spare journal and a pencil I could borrow, do you?" I nodded, standing up and making my way towards the desk to grab what she had asked for. She sighed in relief as I handed her the objects, a muttered 'thank you' escaping her lips as she opens the journal to a page somewhere in the middle before going back to the beginning. Strange.

She's immediately scribbling, a slight smile seeming to make her face glow. It looks right on her delicate features, and doe-brown eyes shine with a delight I don't think I've ever seen. Obviously writing was a passion, or perhaps even drawing, as I had no clue what she was doing, though by the way her hands move I can assume it's writing. She faltered a few times; tapping the pencil on the page rapidly, though quickly went back to work. As I watched I found myself not noticing they Miss Peirce was talking.

"…So you can see why I would be concerned. Right Doctor? Doctor Watson? Are you listening?" I snapped back to the conversation that must have been happening around me, as did Vivian, though I didn't know why. Why would she respond to my name?

"Yes, Holmes?"

"Pardon?"

We both said at the same time. I turned over to Vivian and raised an eyebrow. Holmes? Why did she say…?

Miss Pierce turned sharply, glaring at her companion coldly. The phrase 'Freudian slip' came to mind. Vivian cocked her head to the side in confusion before her eyes widened in understanding. A muttered curse escaped her lips as she looked from Holmes, to me, then back to Holmes before placing her head in her hand.

"I am a complete and utter idiot." She muttered, just loud enough to be heard, but just quiet enough to make me assume she was trying not to be. Her companion nodded in agreement.

"I will explain later. As for you," she turned over to Vivian once more. "We'll talk about controlling some of your bad habits later." Vivian glared, crossing her arms across her chest. Apparently not the best idea, as she yelped as she prodded herself with the pencil. Miss Pierce muttered something about how she'd _wish_ it was only a pencil later, and I couldn't help but raise a curious eyebrow. Somehow, I didn't doubt that the two sustaining minor injuries by the others hand at least thrice a day wasn't that far off.

I'm rather sure Miss Peirce muttered something along the lines of 'I'm going to murder that girl' before going back to the original conversation where she left off, completely forgetting whatever she had asked me.

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**A/N: Sorry it's so much shorter than the last one. I promise the next one'll be longer though!**

**Crit happily welcome!**


	3. Laura

**A/N: Another update? So soon? I know! I blame those little ideas that nag you in the night until you type them out.  
In other news, chapter four should be up by around Tuesday/Thursday which is really good considering I can usually only pump out this stuff one to two weeks at a time. You people are lucky I don't go editing crazy like other people. ;)**

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It wasn't long into my explanation that Angela gave up Dr. Watson's chair, favoring a spot by Holmes on the settee.

Now, I quickly thought that this would lead to nothing but trouble. For some odd reason I, in all my knowledge and ability to get inside the girls head, couldn't fathom, my friend found the sound of my voice soothing, which would explain why she couldn't explain most of my theories; she always fell asleep before I had given her all the details. We had also, on many occasions, talked about what it would be like to time travel (aka 'visit Emit Levart') together. One time we had been playing out a scenario where Holmes came to our time and she had, only half-jokingly, said that Holmes was around the build as he older brother, whom she, apparently, often fell asleep on the shoulder of on long car rides. Why this was coming to mind now I didn't know, but I hoped I was wrong. If that girl fell asleep against Holmes I swear I would literally _murder_ her!

I finished my tale quickly, putting in as many fictional details as I could. I had explained that we had come to 221B to talk about the 'death' of 'Vivian's' parents a month earlier, and how no one seemed to be able to solve the case. I'm rather sure I made it sound almost like The Sign of Four, but I dearly hoped Holmes wouldn't notice.

"…So we started off here, which was when Vivian fainted. I figured at the time that she would be fine if I just carried he the last few blocks here, which leads us to where we currently are." Holmes nodded, fingertips resting on each other as he leaned forward. Watson seemed more interested in reading whatever Angela had written. Likely some romanticized fantasy story or perhaps poetry. I didn't try to think about it too hard, not wanting to go even further into the girls head. I shudder at the thought.

I noticed that Angela had started nodding off several times during the explanation, though was still quite awake. I just hoped she would stay like that, though her half-lidded eyes begged to smash that small glimmer. Of course she would fall asleep. She was _Angela_!

Watson raised an eyebrow as my companions head began to nod a few times before snapping back up, though her eyes shut a bit more each time. Obviously the girl was having trouble staying awake. Holmes had yet to notice the girl beginning to fall asleep at his side.

The good Doctor seemed to have a hard time controlling his chuckling -as was I- when Angela (Vivian?) finally conked out, her head resting on Holmes's shoulder, knees up to her chest and arms limply around the Detective's. Sherlock didn't even seem to notice. Of course he didn't; why would be? It was just a little over a hundred pounds of dead weight lying there, after all. Nothing to distract him from the clues of the fake case I supplied _at all_.

Angela burrowed herself further into Holmes's sleeve. Muttering something that sounded a bit like 'Jamie', the name of her older brother. The phrase she often said in a high pitched, innocent voice came to mind: 'I'm going to slaughter you,'. It was something I was more than familiar with, but never thought the words would be coming out of my own mouth. Of course, they hadn't (yet), but they might.

Angela snored lightly.

Very, very soon.

Finally, after a minute or two Watson finally burst out laughing at the strange sight, and I'm embarrassed to say I quickly followed. Holmes looked up at us sharply, startled out of his reverie, and Angela slumped onto his lap. He blinked several times before looking down at the mess of brown hair. One thin eyebrow arched up at her before he looked up at Watson and I.

"She fell asleep." I said between chuckles.

Watson nodded in agreement with the statement, his own laughs finally beginning to die down. "You were a bit too deep in thought to notice the ninety some-odd-pounds leaning on your shoulder."

"One hundred," I automatically correct. "If she were awake she'd want to make it quite clear that it's one hundred some-odd-pounds." We both laughed again as the girl herself suddenly jerked up, muttering something along the lines of 'where'd the pillow go?' in her only half awake state.

Holmes's other eyebrow makes its way up to his hairline as he gently (sort of) pushed her off him. Angela blinked owlishly in response, finally seeming to be partially back to the waking world.. "I don' wanna know, do I?" She slurred sleepily, rubbing her eyes. Watson and I looked at each other, shaking our heads.

"Am I gonna die because of whatever happened? And if so, by your hand or Holmes's?" She said, eyeing me somewhat warily. I let out a bark of laughter, thought the two 'brothers' ("Not in blood, but in bond,") giving me equally suspicious stares. Bloody hell.

"We have little spats sometimes," I said with a shrug. "Nothing a few bandages and a slightly insincere 'I'm sorry' couldn't fix on previous occasions." Angela nodded in slightly begrudging agreement. More than once I was the one to offer the apology, true, but she had still offered a few more than I, so she had no right to complain about mental (and verbal) death threats.

I heard mutters from a certain someone how they 'wouldn't put it past us' considering what they had seen of our relationship so far. Obviously Watson had never examined his friendship with Holmes. I was suddenly reminded of one of my favorite bits of quick, witty banter from the movie.

'Get that _thing_ out of my face.'

'It's not in your face, it's in my hand.'

'Get what's in your hand out of my face!'

I'm rather sure Angela was the only person who could figure out why I was suddenly chuckling to myself like mad while starring at the violin case in the corner of the room. More specifically, the bow that lay on top of it. Why Holmes hadn't bothered to put the bow back in the case where it was suppose to be, I would never know, nor did I want to. I was in the mans head enough, thank you, I didn't need to go further down the rabbit hole, lest my fluffy white tail be chopped off.

Angela was getting to me. I was making Alice references in my writing now. Wonderful, I was going mad. What was that quote Angela was so fond of using? "'But I don't want to be among mad people!' 'Oh, you can't help that. We're _all_ mad here. I'm mad, you're mad.'" Alice and the Cheshire Cat, if I remember correctly.

I suddenly had the great urge to smack some sense back into that head of mine.

Unfortunately, my friend noticed my expression. She immediately stood up, walking over to me and clapping a hand a bit harder than necessary on my shoulder with a smile, pushing me forwards slightly. "Something wrong, _Julissa_?" She asked in the most singly irksome tone I have ever heard in my entire life. I scowled at the use of my aliases full first name. She. Would. Pay.

"Nothing, my dear _Viviana_." I said in a voice that was only half as irksome as her own. I'm rather sure Holmes was taking mental notes by this point. Angela's right eye twitched slightly in annoyance, and she got that familiar I'd-kill-you-but-there-are-witnesses-here look.

Watson quickly came up between us and out of the corner of my eye I noticed Holmes lighting the tobacco in his pipe. "Why don't we go for a walk? It's getting a bit stuffy in here, and I'm rather sure no one wants to be around by the time Holmes lights his third pipe." He looked directly at Angela on the last comment.

We both nodded eagerly, already rushing for the door. Fresh London air was better than Sherlock Holmes's pipe smoke (which I assure you is _much _worse than any cigar you've ever smelt) any day.

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**A/N: No, I don't want to hear anything on my insanity. Yes, I do think the situation of me falling asleep on Holmes mistaking him for my older brother would be perfectly plausible if I went back in time. Double yes, reviews ARE appreciated! :B (-That's my offical Dork/Redneck smiley that I made. He. Is. MINE! But yeah, you can use him.)**


	4. Holmes

It was around two hours after Watson had taken the girls our for a walk that I heard the door open at last. Well, that wasn't the only thing.

"I'm telling you the prat deserved it!" Vivian yelled, and the sound of stomping footsteps going up the stairs filled the air.

"I never said he didn't deserve it, I just said you shouldn't have provoked a fight with him." That was Julia (whom I had only heard referred to as 'Miss Pierce' by Watson thus far).

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't want to punch his lights too!" I raised an eyebrow at that, and the sitting room door was promptly flung open and someone who I could only assume was Vivian went off in the general direction of Watson's room, where I'm rather sure the good Doctor had instructed her to go.

"Miss Pierce, could you please go and try and calm her down? I still need to look at that bloody nose." Julia walked in as Watson spoke. She turned around to him, giving him a two fingered salute that would have put most army men to shame, and made her way to where Vivian had just gone.

Watson sighed and collapsed into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "If the boy just hadn't made that comment. You _never_ say that to a woman, lad. _Never_!"

"What happened and who was the lad?" I asked. Watson looked up, slightly startled, and it took me a moment to realize he had not known I was in the room.

"The lad was Wiggins. What happened is that he and Miss Nevue had a fist fight after a rather rude comment. The girl would be great at boxing, you know." I nodded, silently asking for details.

"Well, one of the Irregulars broke his arm. Nothing serious, but Wiggins was apparently on his way here to ask for my assistance. He ran right into Miss Peirce, knocking them both over. As he got up he made some comment under his breath about how 'girls never watch where they're going' and was about to run off again when Miss Nevue stood in way.

"'I think you owe me friend and apology.' Said she.

"'Why should I? She was the one who wasn't watchin' where she was goin'.' Wiggins replied. 'Besides, ain't my fault she landed right in the mud. I'm s'prised she can even stay upright with 'ow scrawny she is.'

"At this miss Nevue bristled, asking if he'd like to test that with her. Wiggins merely laughed, stating that there was no way she could beat him in a fight, if that's what she was implying.

"I'm not quite sure what happened next. All I saw was Wiggins getting a sound uppercut to the jaw and Miss Nevue daring him to hit her back.

"By the time Miss Peirce and I managed to break them up there was a bit of a crowd and both had more that a few minor injuries. You know Miss Nevue actually did some sort of wrist lock on him at one point? Took him straight to the ground, though I think she was holding back because it was neither broken nor sprained." He sighed. "Right now she has a bloody nose, a black eye, and she's going to have a nasty bruise on her left cheek, among other things."

I was growing steadily more interested as the tale continued, and by the end I was thoroughly surprised, though I didn't show it. I honestly wished I had gone on that walk with them.

"And may I ask what kept you? I doubt a short stroll and a fist fight could take two hours."

"I had to check on the boy that had broken his arm, not to mention check Wiggins. I'd tried to do the same with Miss Nevue, but she refused and said she'd be just fine until we arrived back here. You'll be happy to know I've finally found someone more stubborn than you when it comes to their health, by the way." I ignored not-so-subtle hint at how poor a patient I was when ill or injured.

Miss Peirce came back down at this point, looking from Watson, to me, then back to Watson before saying that Vivian had locked the door before she'd been able to get in. I stood up eagerly, already on my way to Watson's room before anyone could say a word. True, Watson had the key and even without could probably convince Vivian to open the door, but I wanted a chance to talk to her myself.

Before the two had even finished ascending the stairs I had the door unlocked and cracked open. Before I could press the door open any further there was the sound of a gunshot and triumphant cry. Julia was up the stairs in a flash and at my side, not showing any sign of exhaustion other than a slight acceleration in her breathing.

"Are you okay?!" She asked immediately, worriedly. I nodded, knocking on the door, motioning for her to step back.

"Permission to enter the armory?" I asked sarcastically. A bit of a smile twitched on Julia's lips, though I didn't know why.

"Granted."

Another shot rang through the air, followed closely by a snicker.

I walked in with only a hint of trepidation, and couldn't help but be curious about the sight before me.

Vivian was seated in Watson's chair on the far side of the room, service revolver in hand, and appeared to be aiming rather carefully at something on the desk in front of me. I was surprised to find it was a picture of myself -one of the few pictures Watson had out- with two neat bullet holes through it, one between the eyes and the other at the neck. I honestly did not want to know.

Julia crept in behind me, looking from Vivian, to the bullet-ridden picture, then back to Vivian as she fired another shot. This one went wide, nearly to the ceiling, if only because Julia had walked over smacked her companion upside the head just before. Vivian scowled, re-aiming the revolver until it was level with the picture again.

"If you don't want two more shots, I suggest you don't mess this one up." She muttered. Julia crossed her arms defiantly, but didn't say a word.

This one hit as well, getting the picture me in the left eye. "Kill shot." Vivian said, with no small amount of pride as she looked at her friend, who was staring in a rather irritated manner at the gun. "Told you I'd be a good shot, didn't I? But _no, _you wouldn't believe me at the time. Experience with a gun doesn't wither as one ages, my dear girl." She tossed the gun in my general direction without looking over to me, which I quickly caught. "In case you were wondering, there weren't any other pictures in my immediate line of vision, so I figured yours would do."

She stood up with a smile, though winced when it reached her blackened eye, and gave me a brief but hard pat on the shoulder (something I'm rather sure I saw her hop up slightly to do) as she passed. "I killed you every time." I looked over to Julia, who merely shrugged helplessly. She knew why her friend had chosen that picture, and why she had been so careful about 'kill shots', as she had called them, but I wouldn't press. For now.

I couldn't help but think, as I watched Vivian walk back to the sitting room with a spring in her step that hadn't been there when she'd gotten back, that shooting the picture had greatly improved her mood. This theory was only backed up by the cheerful "Poke and prod as you please, Doctor," that met my ears. There was something not right about that girl. It was subtle; things I'm sure others wouldn't notice. The way her eyes shone whenever she spoke, how that broad grin never seemed to leave her face (except now), how she only bit her thumbnail when she wrote or chewed the end of the pencil, subtle things.

I couldn't get much from the eyes, just that she was naturally… cheerful person. Not one to be taken down by a challenge, but instead meet it with a smirk and a wry comment. From her smile I could see only what I could from her eyes, although when it slipped a bit I could see a mothers tenderness hidden and nearly smothered in childish glee. From her nail biting habit I could see she was a thinker, carefully considering and weighing options and looking at pros and cons of different paths she may take in this or that. Someone not to be dismayed by being put in charge, but preferred to be alone and solve the problem, whatever it may be, on their own.

I had know all this earlier, but it seemed as though I were just now noting it. In fact, I doubted the girls outward anger had even been completely genuine. It just wasn't in her character. Debates, yes; she probably adored the challenge on her mind, but fights resulting in anger? No. It wasn't right.

Julia gazed at me with a probing expression for a moment, as though trying to see inside my mind, before creeping by me in a similar manner to how she'd gotten in the room in the first place.

After a moment I followed, descending the stairs calmly, wondering what type (if any) of chaos would ensue later on. I pessimistically thought of the joyous (and mildly sadistic) spark that had gleamed in Vivian's eyes as she fired Watson's service revolver at my picture. I had only seen that spark in the eyes of killers before this day. I genuinely hoped this wouldn't end up with me carting off one or both of the young girls to Scotland Yard. After all, they were rather interesting_._

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**A/N: In case no on could tell, this is kind of... none universe specific. It's either in the movie-verse, or the book verse. It could just be a combonation of both. *shrugs* The world may never know. For now, let's just call it a combo though. Unless I say in a future chapter it's universe specific, it. Is. Not. Okay? I hope I've cleared up a few questions.**

**Also, I'd like to know how many of you bite your nails and/or talk to yourselves thanks to writing. I only want to know if it was specifically triggered by starting to write. Don't ask why, I just need to know. :B**

**~Piki(Yowza. Signed A/N. This chapter is lucky)**


	5. Picture Perfect

I allowed Watson to give me a quick check-up down in the sitting room once I had walked back in after going up to his room. I had to admit, shooting that picture of Holmes (which, in turn, meant I was shooting Laura, in a way) had made me feel a lot better.

Of course he had asked what the loud noise had been upstairs, to which I answered that he needed to keep his desk drawers locked, and that it was a bad habit he was developing by keeping in unlocked for anyone to go into and steal his revolver. Apparently, he really didn't want to know because the matter was not discussed further.

Laura came down soon after I had settled into Watson's chair (again) when the good doctor seemed satisfied with my condition. Well, to the very least satisfied with the fact that I had no broken bones and that I wouldn't be dieing any time soon. I doubted he was pleased, considering I had heard him grumbling, more than once, under his breath about how stupid I was to take on so-and-so. I could never quite catch the name. This led me to believe one of two things: one, I really was half deaf, which I blamed my uncle for because _he_ is half deaf and shouts in all our ears to talk without knowing it, or two, he was purposely trying to make sure I didn't catch the name. The former of the two seemed by far the most likely.

Laura eyed me warily, the familiar look of scrutiny placing itself on her sharp (well, not sharp per se, just not terribly rounded) features. I resisted the heavy urge to roll my eyes, though the sarcastic comment flew off my lips before I can fully process it's crossed my mind.

"I'm quite sure the Doctor knew what he was doing, Julissa, and last time I checked you were only good at examining corpses." Watson looked up from the journal he had lent me from his place on the settee, raising an eyebrow at me before looking over to Laura, though the 'I don't want to know' look quickly replaced the odd one and he returned to the journal. I couldn't stop the heat I felt on my cheeks as I realized I had copied some of the poetry I had written from memory into that little black book, along with a few new ones that had been inspired by the duo. This would not end well, I could feel it.

I felt more than saw the glare aimed at my chest as I stared at Watson as he continued to scan the pages. I, truthfully, didn't think much of my poetry, but he must have found it a bit interesting considering he kept reading, his lips occasionally moving with silent words that I could not read. Thank goodness I never put in my more personal thoughts into my writing. Well, there was that one time, but it was free-form and I didn't put any of my free-form in that journal. I think. Crud.

I snatched the pencil I had carelessly dropped in my haste to leave earlier off the floor, twirling it between my fingers, staring at the simple object as though it held the secrets of the universe. And in my mind, it might. You could never be sure when inspiration would strike to write something, or to draw out a scene, it just _happened_, and I always tried to keep paper and some sort of writing tool on me at all costs, even if it was just lip gloss and a cruddy book (which I had actually used on one occasion). Without a doubt my mind was my universe, and that little pencil I twirled in my hand could hold the key to unlocking it.

A beam of light lazily flitted into the room, though it was hazy since my main focus was still on the writing tool, going through the glass in _just_ the right way, falling on Laura.

It was perfect. The way her body was positioned, how the light created shadows flitting across her face, the look of intense concentration in her eyes. I quickly stood up, snatching the journal out of Watson's hand without a second thought, sitting down beside him on the settee for a better angle. The shadows had shifted slightly, now covering the right side of her face in grey, but that only seemed to make the picture more perfect than before. These opportunities were few and far between, and I intended to take it for all it was worth.

Watson opened his mouth to protest as I flipped to some page near the middle, studying my subject and the area surrounding them, and wisely shut his trap.

Laura was obviously in deep contemplation of something, possibly the mysterious new theory she had hinted at the day of our coming to this era, but either way it made her look very… Holmes-esque. Watson stared at me the entire time I drew, which I ignored. Let the man study a new subject, test out his deductive powers, I couldn't care less.

I finished rather quickly, taking care of only main outlines and the structures of certain objects surrounding my subject for the moment. My memory would be able to conjure up the little details I needed to finish later, when someone wasn't breathing down my neck.

Upon returning to the real world after being trapped in my drawing it took mere moment to figure out the changes in my surroundings.

Laura had long since moved from her perfect position, now cross-legged and examining either me or Holmes, who was now pacing behind me. Watson had moved a bit ago and was now across from Laura in his chair, his gaze having long since been moved to the auburn haired teen. I shrugged mentally, deciding that I may as well return to the journal. I could always think of something to write since I no longer wanted to finish the picture. Not at the moment, anyway.

Rather unfortunately, I found myself unable to concentrate due to the heavy silence in the air. I needed some sort of noise; the violin, talking, _anything._

I sighed heavily as even the sound of Sherlock's pacing behind me abruptly stopped, and I suddenly felt as though I'd missed something rather important. I hoped I hadn't. That happened enough at home when I got into one of my 'moods'.

Deciding there was nothing of interest as Holmes' rapid footsteps filled the air once more and Laura shifted her position, I brought my knees up on the settee, and closed my eyes, the little black book clutched to my chest. I was asleep and exploring my mind in minutes.


	6. Of Theories and Violins

The girls had stayed the night, if only because we hadn't been able to wake up Miss Nevue after she had fallen asleep on the settee, nor could we pry the journal from her grasp, I might add. Miss Peirce had warned us, saying she occasionally lashed out in her sleep if she was touched (Holmes was able to prove this when he tried shaking her shoulders) and that once she was out she was, to use her wording, 'dead to the world', and indeed she was. I think the house could catch on fire and she still wouldn't notice.

Holmes and I had both retired to out rooms around nine or ten. Holmes had been trying to get more details from Miss Peirce, which had quickly turned into a rather odd conversations on different ways to kill and not be caught. I shall never understand how it was brought up, nor will I understand how the girl actually thought up more ways than Holmes could, if only by one. I'd honestly never thought of filling a syringe with air and injecting someone with it. I had stayed for a good portion of the conversation, if only because when I had sat on the settee soon after Miss Nevue fell asleep she had latched on to my arm and I couldn't escape for a bit. The reason I knew Holmes had retired soon after was because I heard his footsteps before I'd drifted off.

Unfortunately, only two or three hours later (I'm not sure exactly) I was awoken by… _something_. I'm not entirely sure what it was exactly, but at one o'clock in the morning I snapped up in my bed, hand straying automatically to the drawer where my revolver was. I would soon find I would not be falling back to sleep any time soon.

I relaxed, lying my head once more on the pillow as I tried to fall back asleep. A painful screech coming from Holmes' room startled me back to consciousness just as I began to close my eyes. Lovely. And it wasn't even his normal time. I probably wouldn't be sleeping that night then.

There was one thing that confused me though. Usually when he was on a case he was, to the very least, semi-good with his playing, but tonight he sounded like a complete novice. It was often like that when he was in the middle of one of his wretched Black Fits, but obviously he was not. I decided to ponder it in the morning.

Another horrid _screeeech_ came from Holmes' room.

Should I get some rest.

It was only a half an hour later that I cracked, deciding to go down to the sitting room. A cup of tea might do some good, to the very least calming my nerves so I wouldn't go and strangle the Detective. Lord knew I didn't have endless patience, and on nights like these it seemed to run out all the more quickly.

I paused just out the door, wondering if perhaps I would be disturbing Miss Nevue. These thoughts were soon expelled from my mind at the light sound of footsteps. I was honestly surprised at how light they were. When Holmes paced you could hear his steps throughout the house, they were so heavy. Then again, this girl wasn't Holmes.

I opened the door slowly, hoping I wouldn't startle her. Her steps faltered for a moment at the beginning, but quickly resumed her original pace. It was quick, about three or four steps a second, and when I had the door fully opened I saw that she only paced around the settee. She made another three rounds by the time I got to my chair.

She was the one to start the conversation.

"Something wrong, Doctor?" She questioned, never pausing even for a moment as she kept her vision straight ahead. I shook my head in response even though she couldn't see me, even if she wanted to considering her speed.

"Not at all. It's just that Holmes woke me up with that bloody violin. Must he practice at all hours of the night?" I scowled as another scratchy try at a melody began.

At this Miss Nevue burst out laughing. "Oh, I can assure you that isn't Holmes. It Julissa. She's horrid at her playing. I should know since she _keeps me up at all hours at home!_" The last part was said in a slightly raised voice out the door, as though Miss Peirce would be able to hear it. Then again, I wouldn't put it past her. The girl had the ears of a dog.

Miss Nevue smiled as she went back to pacing. "And she's just as loyal, Doctor." Blast! Had I said that out loud? "Yes." She smiled in a somewhat cheeky manner, falling in to the chair across from me. I noticed how she kept her lips parted, breathing in only through her mouth. I raised an eyebrow, and she mirrored the action as another… sound came from upstairs, though this time it wasn't nearly as bad. Obviously Miss Peirce was beginning to get the hang of the instrument, considering I could now make out a tune somewhat.

After a few moment of silence with just the sound of a poor tune filling the air, I finally cleared my throat. "I actually came down to make myself some tea. Would you like some?" Miss Nevue shook her head, brown curls falling just over her shoulders, framing her oval face.

"No thank you, but some milk would be nice, or just water. Either would be fine." It was odd; the girl was sarcastic and mildly rude with more than a bit of a temper with her companion in her presence, but take Miss Pierce out of the equation and you had a (almost) perfectly polite young lady.

I pondered this as I went off to the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with the requested milk and my tea. I placed the glass in a waiting hand, dark brown eyes staring at nothing. I glanced in the direction she was looking at, and found that her gaze was aimed at the 'V.R.' that Holmes had shot into the wall. A hand raised, morphing as though holding a gun, and she pulled her trigger finger, smiling as she muttered mental calculations about where the bullet would likely hit. It would have just been below the starting point of the 'V', apparently. Assuming she was correct.

I decided that now may be a good time to have some of my queries answered.

"I was wondering earlier, Miss Nevue," I began, and one thing eyebrow quirked in curiosity. "What did you mean when you said you tasted something in the air? I just find it a tad odd." An embarrassed blush spread across her cheeks, though was -rather poorly- hidden by taking long sip from her glass.

Miss Nevue chuckled slightly, as though trying to smooth frayed nerves. "Please, Doctor, call me Vivian. Or Vivi, if you'd prefer. That's what my friends call me."

"You are trying to change the subject now, Vivian." I responded when there were no words after. I honestly wasn't aware someone could turn that particular shade of crimson.

A slight clearing of the throat.

"Well, I personally think everyone had a heightened sense, which had only been proved with the more people I really get to know. I think mine may be taste. Like, how some gypsies say they can see auras and tell about your personality from it. Well, I can do that with people, only with taste. I still haven't figured out what a flavor could say about you personality, though…" She trailed off, a thoughtful look in her eye, before shaking her head. "I must sound crazy to you." Her cheeks went another shade deeper, and by now I was honestly surprised. I had never, _never _seen someone turn that shade before in my life. It was rather interesting, though it did make me a bit worried. That much blood rushing to her head wasn't what one would call a good thing.

I shook my head to her last statement. "Not at all. Actually, your theory is rather interesting. And what, pray tell, are the effects to the other senses from what you have seen so far, if any?"

The deep, almost inhuman looking blush was instantly lost, replaced by a look of pride, and I took notice when she sat op straighter in her seat. "Well, from what I can tell, one of the other senses is… dulled. Like…" She seemed to be searching for the right words as she took another sip from her glass. "Like there's cotton over all of them in the first place; none of them running quite as well as they could be. But then, the cotton is taken off one of them. Well, the cotton has to go somewhere, so some of it is put over a different sense, sometimes all and sometimes very little, and whatever is left over is simply gotten rid of." She seemed satisfied with her own answer, though seemed slightly nervous about my reaction because she started chewing her lower lip.

I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring and interested manner, leaning forward in my chair. "Fascinating." At that one word her entire face seemed to glow, a single, harmonious note rang long and pure from upstairs. Funny thing, that.

"Do you think one of your senses seems a bit better than what a normal persons would be? Touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing; which one?" She was quite clearly excited, nearly bouncing in her spot. I tried to think of any times any particular sense stood out, or when one was at all dulled.

"Touch." I said at last. "It's always been a bit more sensitive than my other senses; it drives Holmes mad when I feel him trying to sneak up on me." I chuckled slightly at the though.

"And diluted?" Miss Ne- Vivian was clearly trying to keep her voice calm, steady; I might even go as far as to say professional, but eagerness still shone through the poor façade.

"I'm not entirely sure on that one." I said apologetically. She nodded, placing her cup down, staring off into nothing.

After a few moments of near silence she seems to realize I've stayed. "Go to bed, Doctor." She said. "Don't let me detain you. If I have any new information on this theory I'll be sure to tell you in the morning. For now, go back to your room and rest."

I nod, realizing I'm still tired. I place my cup beside her own on my way out.

When I get up to my room the pure sound of the violin and a sweet voice singing with the unnamed tune.

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**Nya! I'm so so sorry about the late update! But hey, you guys got two chapters for your troubles! *shrinks back and hopes no one will try and kill me***

**I honestly don't like this chapter as much as the others. :/ It just doesn't seem as believable, or IC, for that matter. But hey, 'you get what you get and you don't throw a fit,' as my brother says.**

**Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, the four POV changes we had in the beginning will continue like that for the whole story. So remember: Angela, Watson, Laura, Holmes, in that order.**

**Well, anyway, reviews are nice, and constructive criticism is nicer! (Nicer? Is that even a word? 'Cause it doesn't sound like one.)**


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